our lost kingdoms
by TamariChan
Summary: There's always something going on during Midwinter. Three nights for Alex and Delia. / Written for Wishing Well Week at Goldenlake.


**Disclaimer: The world and characters of Tortall are Tamora Pierce's, not mine.  
****Prompt**: #15 - Silent Night  
**Written as part of the Wishing Well Week section of the Advent Calendar. It's all happening at Goldenlake (fiefgoldenlake . proboards . com)! Also part of kris11's lovely challenge/thing at the Tamora Pierce Experiment: Writing Challenges. **

**This is for the lovely Muse (museicality).**

**434.**

The balcony door squeaks open.

The footsteps that approach the woman are measured, cat-silent, and familiar. Her dark hair is sleek when viewed from the back and her elbows are propped on the railing. She looks like just another court lady in the dim starlight, but he knows better.

"How is court treating you so far?"

Delia doesn't look over at the young knight, staring instead down at the snow-covered gardens and twinkling lights. Soft, precise laughter, as fake as the blush of her cheeks, wafts up through the cold air.

"Very well, thank you," she says. "And how is knighthood?"

"Very well," Alex echoes, but says nothing else.

"This is my first Midwinter away from home." Delia's gaze drifts up from the gardens to the knight standing beside her.

"You get used to it," he says. "You can get used to almost anything."

Snow starts to fall quickly, bright white flakes coating their dark hair and Delia's long lashes. He's too close.

"I can believe that." Delia wraps her emerald cloak tighter around herself. "Are you looking forward to the ball tomorrow night?"

He smiles slightly. "If only to see you, my lady."

She takes a tiny step toward him and tilts her head. But before she even blinks, Alex has gone back inside.

**437.**

Afterwards, he finds her outside.

She is crumpled in the snow, dark against the pure whiteness with her billowing skirts spread around her. Her cloak lies to her side.

"Get up," he says, not gently. "You'll die out here."

"I hope I do," Delia says without lifting her head. He can barely hear her muffled voice.

"You stupid girl!" Alex crouches beside her, ignoring the dampness seeping into his nicest clothes. "Don't you think he planned for something like this? Get up!"

She doesn't.

"When he returns," Alex says, "he'll expect us to be ready... to have kept our positions. Do you think sobbing out here for someone they think is treasonous will help that?"

"N-no," she sobs. She lifts herself up to look at him. Her face is tearstained, dirty, and bright red from the cold.

"Come on," he says, a little more kindly. He reaches a hand under her waist and stands, half-dragging her to her feet beside him.

He can't let go because she _clings _to him like he is an anchor and she is adrift. He brushes snow off of her shoulders roughly, callously, so he doesn't have to think about how soft and curvy her shaking body is in his arms. He's not a monster, to revel in her grief and vulnerability.

_But aren't you a monster, Alex, aren't you, for betraying your friends and for-_

He won't even let his own mind talk to him about that.

"Come on," he says again, and braces Delia all the way to her rooms.

Her green eyes ask him to come in as he supports her on the threshold, as she unlocks her door. It's something Delia's wanted for years and years but she hasn't ever said, because of Roger and because of court politics and because of lots of things.

"Happy Midwinter," Alex says too harshly, and walks away.

**438.**

She glows with triumph this Midwinter. So does he, but at least he bothers to hide it.

They meet in secret to discuss their plans, with Josiane and Claw and a few insignificant others there but not important. Delia looks at him far too often, and he knows he does the same to her.

"Jon suspects something's going on," he tells her after a meeting as they're walking in the gardens. Her smile is pasted on her red lips and her hand is in his, for appearances' sake of course. They look like any other couple taking a Midwinter night's stroll.

"What?" Delia says. Her voice is still low and pleasant, but he knows her well enough to hear the panic woven through the undertones. "You don't mean-"

"Between us," he clarifies.

The tension drains out of her. "Oh," she says.

"It will be fine," he says. His sword hangs too heavily against his side.

"I know," she says.

She stops walking and he's tugged into stopping, too.

"What is it?"

Her green eyes are huge in the starlight and glistening wetly. Alex tries to back away. He can't handle crying girls.

But she doesn't cry. She grabs his shoulder, hard, and he opens his mouth to protest the pain.

Delia kisses him, harder still, and her lips are silk even as her teeth are sharp. He makes a strangled sound before he gives in, and he keeps his thoughts far away from what Roger would say about this.

He sits down hard on a bench and she's next to him, with him, too close but not nearly close enough, and the tugging of her hands in his hair is quite painful.

Finally he gets to breathe again, and he opens his eyes. Her face glows in the darkness, but not with triumph - not quite.

"What a lovely Midwinter," she says, and he knows she means it.


End file.
